Hope Today for the Lost Tomorrow
by Ragnarok45
Summary: After failing to kill Dumbledore himself, Draco must face the consequences for his “cowardice.” !HPDM! Slash in later chapters !Basically Dead!
1. Life Sucks Then You Scream

**Title: **Hope Today for the Lost Tomorrow

**Author: **Timeoffire45

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **torture, possible future rape, future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers: **SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP

**Main Pairing: **HDPM

**Summary: **After failing to kill Dumbledore himself, Draco must face the consequences for his "cowardice."

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This fic is roughly based off of the song "Stand Up (Mob Action Mix)" by Superchick. It also just so happens to be my first fic ever, so please be nice. ) I'd like to thank my beta, Eris Mackenzie. I'd be lost without you hun. .

_This chapter specifically contains __**TORTURE**__. If you don't want to read it, read down to the first set of asterisks and then skip ahead to the next chapter._

**Hope Today for the Lost Tomorrow**

**Chapter One**

Life Sucks Then You Scream

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Bright, green light shot from the tip of a wand. In the silver eyes of its intended victim, it seemed to move comically slow, yet unnervingly fast all at once. As the light clawed through the air, the expression on her face had just enough time to morph to one of shock, just as that expression was illuminated from below by the killing curse now splashing across her chest. A blonde head hit the richly carpeted floor with an ominously muted "thump".

The caster, watched the entire spectacle unfold before him in no more than two beats of his calm heart, his unwavering eyes never leaving those of his victim; those that were almost the exact same color. A patented sneer found its way to his lips. The parlor of Malfoy Manor was deathly silent, until that silence was shattered by a wail through which it was nigh impossible to discern that words were being said at all.

"Why?" Draco Malfoy screamed at his father, articulating the one thought that was repeating itself over and over in his head. _Why? Why? Why?_

A plethora of emotions washed over him, each taking up brief residence on his face; anger, regret, sorrow, shame, each of them no longer hidden behind the emotional mask he usually wore.

"WHY?" he screamed again, seemingly unable to say anything else.

"Why, you ask?" his father half-drawled, half-shouted at him, his normally placid features morphing into a look of pure contempt. "I should think you know why all this is happening, my son," the last word was spat as if it left a sour taste in his mouth, "or are you truly daft enough to think that you are not the sole cause of this?"

The man's words had the harsh sting of reality to them, causing Draco to momentarily cease his incoherent wailings as the full force of what his father had said sunk in. He, Draco Malfoy, was responsible for his mother's death, as he would be responsible for his own death that was sure to come any moment now. In fact, he was secretly wondering why he wasn't dead already.

Lucius, correctly taking his son's silence for doubt, dove on, "The Dark Lord gave you a choice, Draco, kill Dumbledore or have you family killed."

"But the old man _is_ dead!" Draco cried, coming out of his reverie, almost pleading. Not begging, though; Malfoys never beg. "One way or another Dumbledore is dead. How he died is of no importance!"

In his heart, Draco knew he was grasping at straws. Judging from the murderous look his father was giving him, he obviously had failed at his last attempt to make his father see reason.

"How stupid _are_ you?" Lucius roared at his son, all traces of calm gone, his face turning an unnatural shade of red, spittle flecking off from the corners of his mouth. "It is the details that matter _most_ to our lord! In failing to kill Dumbledore personally, you have shown greater allegiance to that old fool than to our lord himself! In essence, you are a traitor! _That_ is why this is happening, you utter imbecile. I thought I taught you better than this."

Draco was once again stunned into silence. He was unable to come up with a witty retort or to wrestle a confident sneer onto his face. Instead, he stood, thoughts and emotions making themselves known on his face for all who cared to look, and he stared. He stared at the man who had been his mentor, his greatest critic and yet his greatest supporter, and had even, at times, been the bane of his existence, but most importantly, he had been, unequivocally, his father. Key words: had been. Now, he stared at a man whom he barely knew, a man who was willing to do anything he was able, to give up anything short of his own life, just so he could save his own skin. He could not beat a man like this. Not now, and probably not ever.

"Very well then , Father, do what you came here to do," Draco stated, trying sound as devoid of emotion as he could, resigning himself to his fate. "You're going to kill me either way; no sense making my last moment miserable and strenuous."

What happened next can only be described as one of the scariest moments in the history of the magical world. Lucius Malfoy smiled. It was not a happy smile, but one filled with superiority, irony, and the knowledge of knowing something another did not. "Oh no, my son, you're not getting off that easily; not until you have been made to atone for every one of your sins against the Dark Lord and you have been brought to see the error of your ways."

_"Stupefy!_"

Draco barely had time to process the fact that he wasn't going to die yet before the Stunner hit him square in the center of his chest. Everything went black.

XxXxXxXxX

When Draco came to, he was strapped to a large, wooden apparatus. Insofar as he could tell, he was practically parallel to the floor, with his arms secured above his head and his legs tied together at the base of whatever he was on. He could not move his body one inch. Terror flooded through him. Not the kind of terror one experiences when a strange man is following you down the street; no, this was raw, animalistic terror. The alternating feelings of fire and ice rushing through his veins made Draco want to scream in both agony of what he knew was to come and the frustration that he could do nothing about it.

Only years of discipline enabled him to keep from crying out for help. He knew there was no one. It would only amuse his captors if he did so. To try and quell his rising panic attack, Draco took in his surroundings, analyzing the cold, stone room in which he found himself. There were no windows, naturally; the only light came from barely-lit torches. The table he was using as an impromptu bed at the moment appeared to be at the very center of the room. He made the mistake of looking up, although, in all honesty, laying on one's back, it is hard to _not_ look up. Above him were all sorts of wicked-looking devices, ranging in size and shape from what appeared as innocent as a typical comb, with the exception that each tooth was sharpened to a needle-point, to what appeared to be a crane-like device with a rope appearing at the end of it's beam, a harness of sorts suspended from the rope. Draco could guess only too well what the rope and harness were for.

The rusty door inlaid in the wall in the direction of his feet banged open with a sudden force. The terror Draco had been feeling a few moments prior came rushing back, along with a furious desire to not give in to whatever they were going to do to him. Looking into the eyes of his captor, he recognized the face of his fellow Death Eater, Marcus Donovan, as he strode into the room. Upon seeing him, the terror that had nearly seized Draco's mind doubled it's assault, threatening to make him attempt to wriggle free of his restraints. Each Death Eater was prized by the Dark Lord for one reason or another. For Lucius Malfoy, it was his connections within the Ministry. For Draco, it had been his ability to get oh so close to Dumbledore. For Donovan, however, it was his aptitude for torture. He loved nothing better than to break a man's spirit, to have them groveling at his feet. For him, he claimed it was a nearly orgasmic experience when he finally broke a stubborn "client" as he called them.

"My, my, my, look what we have here. A little traitor," Donovan stated calmly, gesturing towards the door in a "come here" gesture. Draco could only guess other Death Eaters were waiting with bated breath to watch yet another display of what happened to those who had forsaken Voldemort. Draco himself had watched at least three other men, all of whom had been dubbed "traitors," be tortured until the normally stoic characters were cracked. They had practically sobbed to be killed, but please, Merlin, just stop the pain. Only this time it was different; this time Draco was the one who would be broken down until there was nothing left but the hollow, lifeless shell of what he used to be. He knew that, in the end, he, too, would beg for death. One always did.

"You're obviously thinking this is going to be a usual session, aren't you, pretty thing?" Donovan asked, allowing a small amount of his truly sadistic character to creep into his voice. "But no, I'm truly sorry, not today. Today, we have a special treatment planned for you and you alone. Oh, it will be marvelous! In the end, you won't plead for death, you'll get down on your hands and knees and surrender your soul to me just to allow me to insert the notion in your fractured mind that death is possible. By the end, you won't even remember why you're here, only that you are broken, beaten, and worthless."

Leaning over the now shivering boy, Donovan retrieved a small flask from his pocket, uncorked it, and force-fed it to Draco with a quiet, "Just to make sure it stays fun."

Without warning, Draco heard a harsh, grating sound, as if someone in the nearby vicinity were turning a rusty wheel. A split-second later, pain exploded from both his arms and legs, the joints threatening to pop. His mind had enough time to register the word "racking" before he felt yet another surge of pain run from his groin to the base of his skull. Merlin, he hadn't known pain like this existed!

He felt himself threatening to cry out already, but he quickly shut those impulses away in a deep, dark corner of his mind. Seeing any sign of his agony would only further the ministrationsit was in quotes because, thinking back on it, my tired brain for some reason thought that ministrations was usually used as a positive word, which it generally is, but it is, in fact, a neutral word, and can be used for either good or bad of his captors, if only so they could get further enjoyment out of it. Without warning, though, the pain stopped. However, Draco knew this would not be the end of it, could not be the end of it.

Donovan gestured once again to the Death Eaters who had, by this time, gathered around the device Draco was laying on, watching him with something akin to fascination. He was suddenly on the floor, his restraints removed so quickly he barely had time to register that he was free before he was yanked to his feet. Then the blows came. The first one caught him completely off-guard, catching him in his stomach, causing him to double over in pain.

The next blow was an elbow the back of his head, a blow that should have have knocked him out. Instead, Draco saw stars but fully felt the pain radiating from his skull throughout his body. It was then he realized what Donovan must have given him: a Full-Consciousness potion. In essence, the potion forced the drinker to stay conscious for an amount of time, depending on how concentrated the dose was. It had originally been invented for the purpose of making a full-proof "Pepper-Up" potion, one that would eliminate the possibility of weariness while still overcoming the potion's effects, but many soon saw the darker ramifications of such a thing, and it was soon outlawed. As if that had ever stopped Voldemort and friends before.

The dose he had received must have been large indeed, for despite multiple blows raining down upon his now prone form, he found he could not will himself into unconsciousness, nor could he try to dull the pain. A well-placed kick caused him to truly see stars behind his eyelids as he felt the full extent of the pain when his elbow broke with a sharp snap.

Next Draco was dragged, once again, to his feet, where he stood unsteadily, gazing out at his captors through two black eyes. At least three ribs had to be broken, he guessed, gauging from the pain radiating from his chest. Donovan appeared in front of him, holding what appeared to be a plastic stick about 18 inches in length.

"Do you see this?" Donovan asked, holding it before Draco's face . "This is a standard issue Japanese Riot Police truncheon. Notice how it is just ever so slightly flexible, but not so much as to soften the impact?"

He suddenly swung the truncheon sideways, holding it roughly perpendicular to Draco's body. Draco felt it make contact with his already broken elbow, and felt a new pain flare up as he heard the sounds of bones, not being broken, but being shattered into hundreds of pieces. A small whimper escaped his lips; a small smile appeared on Donovan's lips in response.

Reversing the swing, Donovan brought it squarely down onto Draco's thigh. There was nothing Draco could do as he felt as much as heard the largest bone in his body briefly resist this onslaught of force but give in a half-second later, exposing him to whole new levels of pain. A scream escaped his lips; the helpless, keening sound rattled the bones of a few present, Donovan obviously not being among them. Tears were freely falling, unchecked, from Draco's eyes at this point. He had dropped all pretenses and masks that he usually wore. It was getting to be too much.

"They say," Donovan continued, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "that breaking your femur is one of the top five most painful experiences a human being can go through." At this he grabbed Draco's hair and forced his head, which had momentarily been facing down at the floor as he tried to screw his eyes shut against the pain, upward, causing Draco to find himself all at once eye-to-eye with Donovan. Draco could see the madness glittering there. "Believe me, pretty thing, if you think that this is as bad as it gets, you have no idea what I'm capable of..."

Draco never saw the Cruciatus Curse coming.

XxXxXxXxX

Draco had lost track of how long he'd been fully awake, unable to shut out the pain that was now a constant in his life. Ever since that first Cruciatus, things had gone completely downhill. Donovan was right, there _were_ things more painful. Since then, Draco had been racked, beaten, stabbed, and cursed until he could no longer remember ever not being in pain. He had long since vomited whatever might have been remaining in his stomach, although it couldn't have been much given that he was not fed anything. One of the more humiliating and painful tortures Donovan had decided to use was the crane-like apparatus that was above the rack he had been originally lying on. His hands had been forced behind his battered body, been tied together, and then the rope had been slowly cranked higher and higher until Draco was suspended off the floor, his body weight supported only by his arms which were pulling his shoulders backwards at angles that were not supposed to be possible. He felt his shoulder dislocate agonizingly slowly, and could not prevent yet another scream from escaping his lips. He could no longer feel his arm.

"That's right, pretty thing, scream. Scream like you mean it," Donovan taunted him, clearly proving, once again, his aptitude and enjoyment of torture, "If you think this is bad, wait for the grand finale."

Draco couldn't reply due to the fact that he was now missing, in all probability, half of his teeth, and his jaw was so swollen that he could hardly move it at all. He knew that he had, by now, a plethora of broken ribs, a broken femur, a broken jaw, and Merlin knew what else . His left arm felt like it was on fire and stuck full of millions of pins which his muddled brain perceived to be what remained of his bones. It had become impossible to breathe through his nose due to at least two different breaks there, and his right arm had lost all feeling completely.

It was upon hearing the words "grand finale" that the finality of this torture finally sunk in for Draco. They weren't torturing him to make a spectacle or example of him; they were torturing him to make him learn a lesson, because they could, and, in Donovan's case, because they _liked_ doing it. They were going to ensure that whatever method would cause him the most agony in his death would only be used upon him after all other avenues of torture had been exhausted.

"Oh, don't worry, we're not going to kill you," Donovan reassured him; clearly he was now able to read Draco's expressions like a book. "However, given what you're going to be facing, I wouldn't thank me for that." His trademark sadistic smile flitted across his face. "It's going to be so wonderful, hearing your screams when you realize just what _exactly_ we are going to do to you... It's enough to make me almost want to toss you inside right now, instead of waiting until you're good and ready."

_Toss me inside, _Draco silently wondered, _what the hell is he going on about?_

"Oops, I've said too much," Donovan seemed to squeak. "Nonetheless, these menial methods grow wearisome... I think you're about ready anyway. How long do you think you have you been here?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say at least two weeks," the blonde boy guessed, spitting the words out through pulped lips.

Donovan smirked. "Is that what you think? Are you sure?"

This brief interrogation was doing little to help Draco's nerves. In his heart, he knew he was on the verge of breaking but refused to show it. Nevertheless, he couldn't prevent his own helplessness and frustration creeping into his voice when he spoke next.

"I don't fucking know, ok?" he screeched. "Just do whatever it is you're going to do, then kill me and be done with it! I don't give a damn what you do to me anymore, just do it and kill me!"

Silence reigned.

"They always break," sighed Donovan, "but no, it's not enough to our lord for me to break you. I have to destroy you. Oh, I haven't had this much fun in years!" The elder man clapped his hands together, a gleeful expression on his face. His demeanor was one of a child who had just been given a Christmas gift they had been asking for for months.

"Bring him," he said, gesturing to two Death Eaters whom Draco did not recognize. The aforementioned two grabbed him roughly by the armpits, dragging him out of the room with Donovan leading them. Draco was barely aware that he was in a long, stone hallway, the kind one would imagine in a stereotypical horror movie; on and on it went, seeming to stretch into eternity. For what seemed like hours, the only sound was the echoed steps of his captors on the uneven stone floor, however, it could have just as easily been weeks, days, months, minutes, seconds; Draco had no way of knowing, and his mind was too battered to be able to think clearly.

Without warning, the steps ceased. They had come to stop at what appeared to be a door as nondescript as the ones to its left and right; that is to say essentially a plain plate of steel. Draco became aware through his haze of disorientation and pain that Donovan was speaking to him.

"Welcome, Master Malfoy," he was saying with a decidedly sarcastic tone to his voice, "to what many among the ranks have dubbed 'Room 101'."

Draco's heart clenched. Having never been one for classic Muggle literature, he did not recognize the Orwellian reference, but the way Donovan had said it, so full of anticipation and glee, was enough to send chills racing up and down Draco's spine as if someone had dropped an ice cube in what remained of his robes. It had been well established at this point that the only thing Donovan got a thrill out of was making others suffer. Whatever was behind this door was _not_ going to be good at all for Draco. Little did he know...

Slowly, as if to heighten the suspense and fear, the door opened on silent hinges despite looking like it should have been squeaking from 100 years of rust. Inside it seemed completely pitch black. Donovan walked inside, motioning for the two Death Eaters still supporting Draco to carry him in. For the first few feet, it was utterly dark, the kind of dark where you can't see your own hand in front of your face, not that Draco could have found the strength to check in any case. Quite suddenly, though, they were standing in a fairly well-lit room with what appeared to be a window enchanted to give the appearance of looking out over a small lake in the middle of a forest. After being locked away in the dark for so long, Draco's eyes felt like they were on fire upon seeing the harsh sunlight, fake though it may have been. It was after he recovered his vision that he saw it.

He did not know how he could have possibly failed to notice it the second he had walked in the room. The magical aura it was giving off was enormous, but most of all, it was dark. It was a device made to cause pain, suffering, and, if one so wished it, death. Sitting in the center of the room was what could only be described as a cube, but only by a rough description. It was about one meter tall, wide, and deep, and appeared to b e composed of a strange black metal. However, covering the entire surface were glyphs of some sort, the likes of which Draco had never seen. Clouds of the darkest black mist flowed like water across its surface, seeming to move in currents from one place to another, occasionally being absorbed or emitted from seemingly random points. It was because of these clouds of mist that it was impossible to fully tell just how big or small the cube was, or whether or not the surface was completely flat, omitting the minor grooves caused by the glyphs.

"What is this thing?" Draco breathed, almost in awe. He wondered briefly how it was possible to conceal this thing's magical signature, given the power levels Draco could sense coming off of it. The air was nearly crackling with raw magic. Then the logical part of his brain slowly kicked in. The barrier they had walked through earlier must have acted as a shield and, knowing the Dark Lord, in more ways than one. Now that he thought about it, Draco supposed that he wouldn't be standing in the room if someone else, most likely Voldemort himself, hadn't allowed it.

"_Thing?_ You dare to call this work of art a THING?" Donovan's normally placid face quickly became a scowl. "This device is known as the Cage of Nightmares, invented by Wilhelm Von Schleidan during the Holocaust as a way to torture his prisoners. It puts you in a state of REM-non REM sleep, that is to say, waking dreaming. It will delve into that pitiful thing you call a mind and display for you all your greatest fears, all your darkest secrets, and there will be nothing you can do to stop it. You will not be able to 'wake up' because you are not asleep, yet you will not be able to 'hide in unconsciousness' either because, in reality, you are not truly conscious either. You will have your mind ravaged in ways I could not hope to achieve, and the best part is that it is all at your own hands, seeing as how _you_ supply the cage with torture material. But why am I even telling you this? It's all boring history. In you go." The last three words were said with a look of utter glee.

And with that, the front of the Cage was opened. Black vapor rushed out at Draco like tentacles reaching out and inviting him inside. A howling filled Draco's ears as he heard faint memories already being dragged up. The screaming was already starting in his head. Little did he know it wasn't just in his head.

The door shut with an ominous, metallic "Bang!"

Darkness consumed him.

A/N: Ok, as this is my first fic ever, PLLLLZ be nice? ) Flame if you want, I won't ignore them. However, if they're utter trash I will. xD Anywho... So yeah, my beta wants me to consider the possibility of one of Draco's nightmares being about getting raped. Good idea or no? Also, I'm still in the middle of writing the second chapter, which, btw, will be nothing but Draco's nightmares. Anyone have some ideas for nightmares? And for those of you wondering, Harry's entry is currently set for chapter three, but that could change... I had to rewrite this chapter at least four times before I got it to conform to something close to what I planned... REVIEW! .


	2. Author Note

**Just a note... no real update... sorry...**

**Hey everyone, this is just to tell you that I've basically given up on this story. I have spent all the time since I uploaded chapter one trying to find a way to make chapter two work. However, after many (you would not BELIEVE how many...) attempts at writing it, I find myself utterly unsatisfied with what I produce. My beta has given me numerous ideas on how to make it work, but, alas alack, all of them have failed.**

**The largest root of the problem is this: I realised I wasn't being creative, I was copying one of my friends on here without intending to. To add to all this, I was swimming in that lovely river in Egypt: De Nile, aka, denial. Once I woke up and smelled the internet coffee (the cliches here are getting annoying, so I will try to refrain from them from now in...), I called up this person and informed her that I was backing off. When she had read it, she saw parallels between our stories when they were first written, but I assured her that mine was different. Well, I knew how my story ended and how hers ended, and the two were clearly different, but that didn't stop the little nagging in my skull that I am now surrendering to.**

**The other main reason simply that I didn't have a clear-cut idea of what was going to happen in the story itself. My style is typically one where I play it by ear with minimal planning and pray that it turns out alright, but still with a general outline of beginning, end, and perhaps a few scence in between. Like I said, MINIMAL planning. Where I run into trouble is the details (no cliches... fighting the urge...), and as such, for this story especially, it screws me over. I basically created this beginning I loved where I beat my dear Draco to pulp then throw him in a magical torture device, and I was planning on writing a rape scene in the next chapter just to bring him down more and then pick up from there, but the process of actually writing that all out eluded me. Oh, sure, it looks good in a general sketch, but DOING it is harder (duh and as always) and, again, I was just cheating myself and someone else.**

--------If you want to read this story, only OODLES better, look up "System Discordia" by pen-name Eris Mackenzie--------


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